


Sick Bay

by deltachye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, taking care of nerds in space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9825737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x various and general fic]Just because they’re defenders of the universe doesn’t mean they don’t come down under the weather every now and then.





	1. Elephant In the Spaceship - Keith

sick bae.

* * *

 

Keith hobbled into the common area with a blanket draped over his head like he were some sort of mountainside witch. Conversation stopped abruptly, and even Hunk managed to stop his burp halfway through as Keith sat heavily in his seat. Pidge awkwardly shoved their face back into a thick Altean book and Lance sat back smugly, a shit-eating grin plastered across his tan features as he kicked his feet up. Keith’s eyes darted around suspiciously and he sniffled cautiously, tense, waiting for somebody to bring it up.

“Dude, are you—?” Hunk began to ask. You shot him a warning look, kicking him underneath the table. It was _the_ look, one of many looks the group had coordinated behind Keith’s moody back. This look was the look that said _don’t ask him that unless you want to die young, idiot!_. Hunk made a gurgling sound, hastily correcting himself. “—u-up for some _breakfast_?! Yeah man, we’ve got like, space eggs that taste great with space orange juice!”

“No thank you,” Keith said nasally in a voice that was so unlike his that you weren’t even sure it was really Keith under that blanket. Lance choked back a laugh behind a hand, turning it into a hacking cough. You could see Pidge’s hands shaking on their textbook as they too were concealing a fit of giggles.

“Maybe you want some hot tea?” you brought up casually, adjusting your tone and measuring it carefully. He turned to glare at you and you shrivelled back, concealing a laugh of your own as he snapped, quite kitten-like,

“ _No thank you_.”

“‘Course not. It’s not like you’ve been sneezing or anything. _Man_ , allergies are terrible. This ship has awful filters!” Lance sighed loudly, rocking on two chair legs as he beamed openly, enjoying himself.

“Whatever,” Keith muttered spitefully, sucking back mucus. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him, but it was also just too funny to see him this far out of his element. Keith couldn’t be the cool rebel guy when he had a fuzzy blanket over his head. Still, everybody respected him enough (ish) to dodge the elephant in the room, but you weren’t above giving everybody knowing looks as Keith reached for a tissue.

Shiro entered the common room last, towelling his silver hair dry with a towel that also made him look like Mountainside Witch Keith. He gave the younger boy a look and cocked his head.

“You sick, Keith?”

The rest of you exchanged look #329—the _oh shit_ look.

“I am _not_!” Keith yelled, banging his fist on the table as he got up, swaying slightly. “Do you think that _I_ of all people would—this doesn’t make me weaker than any of the rest of you, got it!? Stop looking at me like that! I’m not— _achoo_ —! _Shut up Lance_!”


	2. Heroes Don't Take Sick Days - Shiro

“I’m telling you Shiro, you should just take a day off—”

“There’s no time for days off when I’ve got to save the Known Universe from impending doom,” Shiro interjected shortly, cutting you off. You sighed as he blew hard into a tissue, his gold toned complexion flushed with a fever.

“Your lion’s going to hate you if you cough up all those germs everywhere,” you warned, grasping at straws to find anything that would get him to take it easy. But he was Takashi Shirogane, for god’s sake, and he was right. The Galra were coming in hot and there wasn’t even a single second to spare that couldn’t be used for Voltron training. Still, you hated to see him like this.

“I’m sure my lion can handle it. It’s a tough one.” He got up, wobbling a bit, before throwing on a second sweater to layer underneath his armour. You frowned as you got up with him, crossing your arms.

“You’re sick. You’re tired. You’re weak. You’re _miserable_.”

“I already know all those things, hon. There’s nothing I can do about it. Superman never took a sick day.” He smiled wryly at you as he began to suit up. You grabbed one of the pieces and helped him into it, scowling the whole time.

“Superman was an alien. Who was super. You’re just Shiro. And you’re super in your own way, but I don’t want to see you pushing yourself like this when you need to rest.”

“I mean, I’m a space man now too, aren’t I?” He tightened the seal and looked at you a bit sadly, putting his hands on your shoulders. His deep brown eyes were soft as he spoke. “Look… I know you just want the best for me, but this is what I have to do. It’s my responsibility to defend the universe. It’s my responsibility to keep _you_ and everybody else safe. Do you understand?”

“You’re using your captain voice on me,” you said with a pout, having nothing else to do in retaliation since you were already defeated. “I don’t like you using your captain’s voice on me.”

He smiled and pulled you in for a careful hug. His chin rested atop your head. “Sorry. I love you.”

“Yeah, I know…” You hugged him back tightly before he drew away, still smiling despite the obvious fatigue in his face.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Shiro, wait. Let me give you something to help you get better soon.”

“If it’s ibuprofen I’d be so happy right about now—”

You took his arm and jerked him down, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. They reddened quickly as he staggered back a step, staring widely at you as you smiled wearily.

“Go save the world, Super Shiro. Then come right back to take a nap with some hot soup. Got it?!”

“Yes ma’am,” he sighed softly, with a begrudging smirk.


	3. Insult To Injury - Lance

“First I get all my ribs broken—all of them! And now what do I have? A headcold. A _cold_! I almost died and now I have a cold!”

“That’s how an infection usually works,” you sighed, rolling your eyes as you mopped Lance’s face with a cool towel. “You’re lucky it wasn’t anything worse.”

“Allura and Coran have these magic tubes with healing powers but they don’t have a cure for the common cold. Like what the hell is that logic?! They can fix all my broken ribs—all of them, not just one or two!—but not a cold? As if it weren’t bad enough!”

“Lance,” you said tiredly, pressing his head back into the pillow forcefully so that he wouldn’t get up and start ranting again. “You broke all your ribs, and you’re sick. I got it. You need to shut up and rest. _Lie down._ ”

“Well,” he said, obliging for the first time in hours. “I guess this ain’t so bad if I can have you bossing me around. It’s hot.”

“You know what else is hot?” you shot back, unfazed. “Your temperature. _Lie down._ ”

“Only if you give me a kiss. Make me feel better, y’know?”

You slammed his head back into the pillow a bit more aggressively than you needed to, ignoring his indignant objections. You looked to make sure that nobody was around—especially the chatty Hunk—and shut him up with his request halfway through his complaint.

“ _Now_ will you be quiet?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. He stared, shocked, but blissfully quiet. Smirking, you pressed the cool cloth back to his forehead. “Thought so.”


	4. 99.9% Immunity - Hunk

Nobody thought that Hunk would’ve been the first to contract an alien disease.

“It’s not an alien disease!” Hunk protested passionately as Lance whispered—poorly—behind a hand. “It’s just a cold, and I’ll be fine after— _achoo_!”

You winced as he sneezed loudly, not having spared you the comfort of avoiding the water works. The kid was built and stronger than a bull, so everybody would’ve gambled on Pidge or Beauty Queen Lance to be one of the firsts to come down on a cold. (Or, as Lance was adamantly insisting, _alien ebola_.)

“Leave him alone,” you sighed, getting up and ushering everybody out of the room with shooing motions. “Let’s just let Hunk get some rest. You guys can still do Voltron training without him.”

“He’s the other leg,” Keith said bluntly as you gave him a shove. “I don’t think the giant robot can just hobble around like a pirate.”

“‘Like a pirate’? Dude, that’s awful,” Lance groaned. “That’s a terrible metaphor.”

“It’s a _simile_ ,” Keith snapped. Before Lance could open his big fat mouth, you pushed them out forcefully, rolling your eyes as you heard their bickering recede out in the hall. Pidge smiled up at you knowingly.

“I’ll go ask Coran if he’s got any weird alien juju for colds.”

“Thanks,” you said, smiling back. Pidge then adjusted her glasses, giving you a shifty grin. She gestured, getting you to bend down to their level to hear her conspiratorial whisper.

“If you get sick too, we’ll all know what happened.”

“Pidge!” you gasped, horrified, and blushing hard. “I’m—what—that’s—you know what, how about you just go already!”

Pidge snickered delightedly as you hurriedly scurried back into Hunk’s room, still hot faced. Hunk propped himself up on a pillow, rubbing his eyes as you sat back down at his bedside.

“Whoa, you’ve gone all red. Did I really get you sick?” he asked, sounding guilty.

“What? This? No, I’m fine!” You fanned yourself and grinned awkwardly, Pidge’s wiggling eyebrows still in your head. You shook your head a bit forcefully. “You just go to sleep. I’m right here if you need anything!”

“Thanks, [Name]. What would I do without you?” he said sleepily in a very cute voice that socked you right in the heart. Your blush flared up again and you fanned yourself harder with a forced smile so that he didn’t see that you were about to cry just thinking about him. 

“Hey, can I ask you for something?” he brought up suddenly, rolling in his bed. Grateful for the distraction from your own muddle of thoughts, you nodded eagerly.

“What’s up?”

“Do you wanna maybe… keep me warm in bed here?” With the tiniest grin, he patted his mattress. You weren’t sure where Hunk had gotten the confidence to openly say that to you, but maybe… maybe “alien ebola” wasn’t so bad after all.


	5. Ill Timed - Pidge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H/C that Pidge is non-binary and uses he/she/they pronouns interchangeably because they like confusing people and the fact that they're like a genderless legendary pokemon

“No no no no no no no…”

You were walking past the bathroom when a chorus of muffled ‘nos’ filled your ears. The voice was distinctive. You paused, frowning slightly, before knocking on the door hesitantly.

“Um, Pidge… you okay in there?”

There was a second’s hesitation before they threw the door open, their glasses propped up on their head as they glared at you. Their expression softened with visible relief when they met your eyes before they poked their head out into the hall, looking both ways.

“Pidge, you’re acting suspicious,” you prompted patiently.

“Oh, right. Um, I’ve got to ask you…”

Suddenly, the sound of Lance’s atrocious humming came echoing down the east end of the metal hall. Pidge blanched and grasped your wrist, jerking you inside the washroom with them before slamming the door shut. You yelped with surprise and indignity before they pulled you down with surprising strength, clapping a hand over your mouth. You stared, bug-eyed, as Lance’s rendition of ‘Sexyback’ got louder, and then quieter (to your eternal relief). When it was gone, Pidge let go of you.

“Sorry about that, I just didn’t want anybody to hear…”

“Hear what? Are you okay?” Concern was cooling your blood now and you looked closely at Pidge’s face, trying to pick out the problem. They sucked in a deep breath before giving you an embarrassed look.

“D’you think Coran and Allura have like… space tampons?”

“Space…? oh. _Oh_ , oh, I see! Okay. Um… how about I go out and look? Discreetly?”

Pidge let out a great sigh of relief, their tiny frame slumping. Pidge looked up with a relieved smile and took your hand, squeezing it tightly. Their small hand was warm against yours.

“Thanks, [Name]. You’re the only one I can trust.”

You left the bathroom with a bit of a goofy grin on your face before it fell. Did alien princesses even _get_ periods?


	6. Milking It - Lance

“And I want honey with the tea. Got that? Don’t bother coming back if there’s no honey in it!”

“Right away, Lance!” Hunk hobbled away with the list of requests balanced in both his arms, muttering under his breath. “Honey, honey…”

“Lance,” you chided exasperatedly as you passed the other boy in the doorway, nearly knocking Hunk’s stacks of notes to the ground. You put your hands on your hips. “Just ‘cause you’re sick doesn’t mean you get to bully poor Hunk.”

“Who said I was just bullying Hunk?” Lance replied mischievously, his voice a bit nasal, but smug all the same. His arms were crossed behind his head as he rested on a luxurious pillow. You frowned, but you were curiously amused all the same as you took a seat next to his bed.

“Lance…”

“Keith’s been trying to find _this_ —” he said proudly, holding up one of his socks with another grin. “—all day, since I asked. He couldn’t even say no because I’m like, dying. And Shiro’s finally laying training easy on me! Life’s great. I mean, despite the dying part.”

“You’re not dying. You have the flu,” you reminded. “And Pidge?” 

“No way I’d mess with Pidge! I’m not _crazy_.”

“Okay then,” you laughed, shaking your head. You looked up at him, resting your head on your hands. “What about me? Want me to go hunt down the other sock? You going to make me your slave, too?”

“Nah,” Lance chirped, tilting his head and flashing one of his signature McClain smiles. “…to the sock hunting. The slave part? Sounds good. I want you here. I order you to be.”

“Allura’s the princess, not you.”

“You sayin’ I’m not your princess, babe?”

“One: don’t call yourself a princess. Two: don’t call me babe.” But you played along, smiling in defeat. “But I’ll agree to one request. Just one.”

“Kiss me.”

“What?!” you spluttered, sitting up a bit straighter. “Y-you’re sick!”

“Your liege demands it, peasant.” Lance made a silly puckering face and you had half a mind to kick him out the ship entirely. But although your face reddened at the thought, you knew that he wasn’t actually expecting you to go through with it, which meant that to one-up him, you’d have to—

“Wh-whoa, [Name]!?”

You leant back and pointed at your lips, ignoring the heated blush creeping along your neck. His face had been warmer than usual under you, but you couldn’t deny that there had been something else when your lips touched his skin. 

“I-if I get sick, I expect you to be working as my slave _double-time_. Got that?!”

Lance merely stared, his coffee toned complexion growing dark with scarlet as his mouth hung open. Before he could figure his thoughts out, Keith burst through the door, holding up a sock triumphantly.

“I found it!” he shouted excitedly, “I—wait, am I interrupting something?”

“Nope,” you said hurriedly, turning around and scooting past the confused male. You clapped Keith on the back. “Good luck being his slave.”

A week later, you were lying in your own bed, staring up at the ceiling with misery as exhaustion riddled your bones.

“Sorry,” Lance muttered sheepishly at your bedside. Almost gingerly, he extended a tray to you. “I got you tea with honey.”

You weren’t mad for long. After all, you had him as a slave of your own…


	7. It's Nothing - Pidge

“Pidge…” You sighed as they looked up to you disgruntledly, wiping watery snot from their nose with their sleeve.

“What?” they challenged touchily, as if daring you to continue. Despite the fact that Pidge wasn’t much taller than a pile of boxes, their pouty glare intimidated you into silence, and you averted your gaze.

“Nothing… I’m just saying, if you need a break, you can take one. You _should_ take one.”

“I don’t need a break,” Pidge replied haughtily. “Nothing’s wrong with me. Now, can you pass me the Phillips head?”

You did as they asked, unable to help another sigh as they sniffled through an obviously plugged nose. You should’ve told Pidge to rest—hell, you should’ve caught Pidge’s fists and fought them yourself—but you trusted them enough. Turns out that you’d made a mistake in that when you walked back into the lab, carrying the piles of scrap metal the young genius had asked you for. It tumbled to the ground, making a horrendous cacophony of noise as you screamed.

“ _Pidge_!”

You ran to their side and shook their frail body frantically, a wave of relief crashing onto you like the Atlantic when they moaned in response. Pidge’s eyes opened blearily and they tugged the glasses off their face, blinking up at you.

“[Name]? What’re you screaming for…?”

“You were collapsed on the floor! I thought the Galra had gotten you, or-or—gah, Pidge, you big fat _idiot!_ ”

Their eyes widened as you yelled angrily. They pointed up at you hesitantly, the finger shaking slightly.

“[Name], are you… crying?”

“Of course I’m crying!” you snapped while sniffling, ignoring the shock across Pidge’s androgynous face. Through hiccups, you ranted, waving your arms around wildly. “You have no idea how much I care about you, and you treat yourself like trash?! ‘It’s nothing’—oh, really?! For such a smartass, you can be so dumb!”

“You… care about me?” Pidge repeated slowly.

“Yes!” you shouted exasperatedly. “I _like_ you, and I’m trying to take care of you, but you won’t let me!”

“Oh… wow. Okay. Sorry, nobody’s ever said that to me, so I don’t know what to say.” Pidge stared at you, the blush across their face easily mistakable as a fever. You ignored their sheepish tone and scowled, holding out a hand. They stared down at it.

“What are you waiting for?” you asked peevishly. “I’m taking you to your room.”

“What? I’m not going to my room, I’m fine now!” They scrambled to their feet and dusted off their shirt. “I was just a bit tired, that’s all—”

“Pidge,” you warned lowly. “Just because I told you I like you doesn’t mean that I will hesitate in telling Shiro to carry you with his robo-arm. I might even ask Keith to pile drive you into the floor, first, if you don’t come with me.”

“Okay, fine! Geez!” Pidge hastily grabbed onto your hand, their roughened palm hot against your skin as their fingers slipped through yours. You couldn’t help but stare as they stared back.

“What?!” Pidge grumbled, looking away sharply but not letting go. Their interlaced fingers twitched somewhat, and it was like you could feel their pulse. “ _You’re_ the one who put your hand out!”

“Y-yeah, but I didn’t think you’d like, actually _hold_ my hand…”

“You’re a mess, you know that?” Pidge sighed as they got up, carting _you_ , the supposed caretaker along. Suddenly they stopped and gave you one of the elvish, mischievous grins you’d learnt to love. “You’re lucky I’m good at fixing things.”

Later, at dinner, when Lance asked what the commotion in the machinery room was, you and Pidge shared a secretive smile. In unison, you chorused,

“It was nothing.”


	8. Not A Word - Keith

You weren’t sure when it had happened, but somehow, you’d turned into Keith’s batter—in a metaphorical sense. He was the umpire and you were responsible for fending off the smug looks or offhand comments the other crewmates kept giving him. Fastballs: _“Keith, you look under the weather”_ ; Splitters: _“Keith, you feeling okay?”_ ; Curveballs: _“Keith, you look like shit; you sick?”_ —you had to fight them all off.

You’d never been good at softball, but you started getting pretty good. After all, Keith was a touchy kind of guy, and was still in denial about his cold. Anybody reminding him would get more than a mouthful of what they bargained for, so really, you were protecting everybody, not just Keith. Still, he seemed to notice your hovering and blew his nose before looking at you pointedly.

“Are you following me?”

“No!” you chimed agreeably, using the same tone of voice you used on other people when trying to convince them that Keith was fine— _“It’s just allergies”_ or _“Mind your own damn business unless you want to die, Lance”_. You bounced on your heels, smiling awkwardly. Keith stared.

“You’re standing outside the washroom.”

“Well, that’s just ‘cause I’ve gotta go, too.”

“This is the guy’s washroom.”

“Wh—wow, is it?! Well, are you saying I can’t use the washroom just because it’s for you stinkin’ dudes?!”

Keith sighed, even going so far as to roll his eyes. You were sweating profusely until he seemed to shrug it off, stepping past you to continue on his way down the hall. You waited until he was a couple of feet away before resuming your ‘Batting Stance’, waiting for overly-compassionate people like Shiro or snide jokesters like Lance to come by. Keith stopped in his steps. Unable to find anything to duck behind, you leant against the wall, examining your nails.

“You’re following me,” Keith called tiredly, his voice sounding like an exhausted quack because of his stuffed nose. You bit down a guilty expression and replied,

“Am not. I just happen to be going this way.”

Keith’s footsteps came closer, echoing on the metal floor of the ship. You looked up with surprise as he stood right in front of you, his watery blue eyes trained dead onto your face. You couldn’t help but swallow thickly, the fervour behind his gaze easily mistaken for something besides fever.

“…thanks,” he muttered gruffly, sharply turning away. Startled, you stared after him, your eyelashes batting as you blinked.

“What?”

“For covering for me. Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” He snorted with derision, but it wasn’t meant to sting, and you couldn’t fight the grin coming to your face. You bounded after him like a dog after its owner, slinging your arm around his shoulder.

“You’re cuter when you’re sick, Keith.”

“Don’t _remind_ me—wait, what?”


	9. Medic Down - Hunk

“Bake at thirty-five degrees…”

“You idiot, that says three fifty!”

“Shut up!” Lance continued to squint at the instructions, following along with his finger as if he were a pre-schooler. “Uh… are those in Fahrenheit or like, weird alien degrees?”

“Let me see that.” Pidge scowled and snatched the paper from Lance, pushing his glasses up his nose haughtily. She looked down at the paper before frowning. 

“What does r… ryssohler mean? That’s not even English!”

“I thought you were a genius!” Lance complained. Pidge made a face.

“We’re trying to make pie, not a computer! Give me a wrench any day! I have no idea how to make _food_!”

Keith was next to have a go. He took one look at the page before shaking his head, tossing it aside like trash, forcing Pidge to dive after it.

“I don’t know how to cook,” he admitted flatly. Lance scoffed, crossing his arms.

“You lived alone, didn’t you? What’d you eat?”

“Instant noodles,” the dark-haired teen replied simply. “Sometimes I just didn’t eat anything.”

“…seriously? Like, every day?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay!” you yelled at them before everybody could start to berate Keith on his poor food choices. You yanked the paper back and flattened it out on the counter, glaring at them all. “Hunk’s sick, the food goo machine is out of order, and we need to make him some comfort food so that he gets better soon.”

“Also because I’m super hungry,” Lance chimed in. 

“…also, because Lance is a whiny baby. We can do this. We can figure it out. You guys are the defenders of the universe! What could be so hard?”

It was hard. 

Brutal. Impossible, even. Pidge was out cold, Lance was still crying, and Shiro had abandoned the group over an hour ago. Coran was of no use, launching into convoluted stories about his youth, and Allura was too amused by it all to lend any help. In the end, you had nothing to show for hours of back-breaking labour other than a black crater that Keith insisted was totally fine—when clearly, it wasn’t. 

“I don’t get it,” you groaned. “He makes it look so easy…”

“Hey, guys. What’s the smell? Is something burning?”

Pidge roused herself as everybody jerked to attention. Hunk had a blanket draped around him as he peered into the kitchen, his nose scrunched up with disgust when he saw the mess everybody had made. A tissue was shoved up one of the nostrils, fluttering as he spoke.

“What is _that_ supposed to be?” he asked nasally, pointing at the burnt mess on the counter. 

“A pie,” Keith said matter-of-factly. “What, does it not look like one?”

“Um—we really tried!” you exclaimed hastily, as if it might save the situation. “It was made with… uh… love!” 

“Clearly, we hate Hunk, if this is how our love looks,” Lance whispered morosely.

“Shh,” you hissed out the corner of your mouth as Hunk walked forwards. “I am trying to be _supportive_!”

When you turned back around, Hunk had taken a fork and carved out an ashy piece. To your dismay, you couldn’t stop him before he took a bite, flakes of burnt _something_ twirling down from his chin like ash.

“It’s not terrible,” he remarked. “I can’t really taste it when my nose is plugged… but you guys made something for me? That’s so sweet! I could almost… ugh…”

“Get out of the way!” Lance yelled urgently, recognizing the face immediately, “before he throws up on you!”

Needless to say, all cooking was left to Hunk after that, and none at all to Keith.


	10. Irreplaceable - Shiro

“Form Vol… vol…”

Everybody winced as Shiro’s sneeze echoed around their skulls, seemingly magnified by the speakers in their helmets. Lance groaned as if he’d actually been sneezed on and shuddered.

“Seriously dude. You’re sick. Go take a nap or something. _Please_!”

“If I take a break, who’ll lead Voltron?” Shiro replied snappily, his voice nasally and losing much of its authority. Hunk stifled a giggle as Keith rolled his eyes in his own lion.

“We can do this another day. You’re no good to us if you drop dead, Shiro.”

“The Galra are coming in at any time,” Shiro protested. His face came up on everybody’s screens, his eyes watery and his nose a bright Rudolph red as he blew his nose for everybody to see. “We’ve got to train, and nobody else can pilot the Black Lion, so if we have any more complaints…?”

Pidge sucked her teeth passive-aggressively and Hunk whistled a stanza of a tune to distract himself from laughing at the beloved leader. Lance was still grimacing and Keith merely rolled his eyes again, sensing that Shiro wasn’t going to be backing down any time soon.

However, the poor paladin’s health deteriorated quickly—probably from exertion—and finally, Coran stepped in to put the man to strict bed rest. Keith eyed his screen with visible discomfort.

“We should’ve just left the Black Lion in the ship while we trained,” he spoke up, finally annoyed enough to snap. “This is stupid.”

“What are you talking about?” Lance protested gleefully, “Shiro’s right there!”

Everybody looked to their screens, where a precariously balanced pile of empty armor sat in the Black Lion’s seat. It had a collection of white cotton balls for hair and sharp, angular “eyes” crafted out of sharpie. An arm had been duct taped to be in a constant waving position. Lance cleared his throat, dropping it as low as he could.

“Form Voltron! Everything will be fine if we work as a team!”

“That was good!” Hunk complimented. Pidge snickered. Keith closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

“Let's just get a move on…”

“Keith! Your negativity will affect the team! Teamwork is key! Hey, look at how many push-ups I can do! I’m _ripped_!”

Everybody erupted into guffaws as the arm broke off after Lance’s emphatic imitation. In his dorm, Shiro sat up, sneezing three times in a row.

“Excuse me,” he muttered to himself thoughtfully. “Did somebody say my name…?”


	11. Persuasive Partner - Keith

“You’re sick, Kogane.”

“I don’t _get_ sick,” he retorted, in such a nasally voice that he might as well have been speaking Altean gibberish. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, snuffling pathetically as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Well, you just did. There’s no way we can have an epidemic on this enclosed metal box hurtling through isolated space, so go back to bed.”

“Are you kidding me?” he complained as you began to physically push him. “I told you already that I’m not sick!”

“Are too,” you muttered exasperatedly as a hacking cough came over him, like the cold was telling him to shut up in its own way. “ _Please_ , just get some rest. You’ll never get better if you’re up and about all the time.”

“I’m not sick,” he protested, but you kicked him into his room, letting the pneumatic doors slide shut before he could say (or cough) anything else. You clapped your hands together and walked away, heading down to the kitchens to try and find anything that might help the angsty teen get over his cold. You ran into Coran, who was very helpful—if not longwinded in his explanations—of various dried herbs that had been stored onboard. Satisfied with the tea and soup combo you’d made, you headed back up to Keith’s room—only to find that Keith wasn’t even _in_ Keith’s room.

“That _idiot_!” you growled, nearly dropping the tray onto the ground with your frustration. You set it down before stomping off to where you knew you’d find him, and there he was; in the sparring room. He spotted you coming and you thought you saw the sweat freeze on his face. He ducked to grab his jacket, but there was nothing faster than a person fuelled with vengeance, and you tackled him down into the ground before he could take off.

“I! Told! You! To! Stay! In! _Bed_! And where are you?! Not _in bed_!”

“Leave me alone!” he grunted, but you were already dragging him feet first. He writhed and thrashed like an alien squid, but you were fired up with determination, and practically flung him like an emo shotput back into his room. You followed him in this time, locking the door behind you as you glared at him. He glowered at you.

“Get off my back, would you? I told you, I’m not sick!”

“Yes, you are. You have a cold, you freaking quiznak, and you’re never going to _not_ be sick if you don’t take a damn nap!”

“I’m not going to,” he said, crossing his arms and legs on the floor. He was pouting. You had a two year old for company.

With a scowl, you marched over to his bedding, pointing at it. “Look. Doesn’t a nap seem great? Get in the bed, Keith. You know you want to!”

“I’m not going to.”

You sighed, closing your eyes with exasperation. _Think_ , you demanded of yourself mentally. _What’d entice this idiot to do what I say?_

The answer came surprisingly simple. You sat in his bed and patted the spot beside you. He already looked confused with your sudden change in mood, so you raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“We’ve got to share body heat to get rid of your cold,” you said, trying to entice him with a seductive, coy tone. “Don’t tell me you’d give that up?”

“I—” he stammered, dark eyes widening already. You saw a fan of pink come across his face blotchily, a blush that couldn’t be explained away by fever. His eyes narrowed accusatorily. “What are you even trying to do?!”

When he still didn’t move, you switched plans. “I’m going to take my shirt off in front of Lance,” you said, “in three seconds if you don’t get into this bed with me.” With a serious expression, you thumbed the hem of your jacket.

He got into the bed.


	12. No Rest For The Wicked - Lotor

“That’s impossible.” You were already shaking your head when Ezor told you, and a sly smile shifted across her fuschia lips.

“Is too.” Leaning in closer, she whispered conspiratorially. “Prince Lotor’s got a _cold_.”

“He’s… he would never get sick!” you protested fervently. “He’s Prince _Lotor_! Besides, this is hardly the time. With the paladins of Voltron evading us—”

“We can always count on you to ask us to reschedule our illnesses, [Name].” Ezor giggled, hiding her laugh behind her slender fingers. She winked. “Hey, maybe you’ll make him feel all better.”

“Me? Why would you think that?” you asked warily, knowing the girl always had something up her sleeve. To your surprise she didn’t say anything and merely winked, bouncing away as the long pony-tail like extension of her head swung.

With your interest piqued, you definitely had to go see for yourself. Adamantly believing that you were being screwed with, you marched right up to the prince’s door, knocking twice and announcing yourself. 

“What.”

His voice was surprisingly flat and you were taken aback. He was probably in a bad mood, which was understandable. The brats that were piloting Voltron were not making things any easier for the Galra. As the newly instated temporary Emperor, Lotor—already vehemently disliked by the pureblood Galra majority—had been taking the brunt of the empire’s backlash. You grit your teeth together and entered. You would not abandon him, no matter how bitter or furious he might be. He had not abandoned you, and you owed your life to the prince. He was great in your eyes, a conqueror of warriors and the galaxy’s shrewdest pilot.

Which was why it was so odd to see him collapsed on the floor.

“Lotor!” you gasped, dropping to his side. He sat up, kneading his temples as you helped him upright. 

“Is there something you need, [Name]?” he asked testily, like it was totally normal to be drooling and shivering on the ground. You were flabbergasted by his appearance. His body was hunched and trembled, and clear snot seemed to dribble out of his elegant nose at a steady pace. Prince Lotor, the current Emperor of many states of the universe… 

Had a cold.

“You can’t be sick!” you blurted out, fully aware of the fact that you were probably being rude. But you were just so distraught. “We’re already worrying about Voltron!”

“I have more to worry about than those goonies,” Lotor rasped, rolling his golden eyes. He sighed and pulled on your arm to steady himself on the way to his feet. He wobbled and you guided him to his cot, placing him down gently. He eyed you before snorting, his nasally voice having lost his usual commanding baritone.

“I am sorry that I look so terrible. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, it’s…”

“I’ll recover. You needn’t worry about our mission objective.”

“That’s not what I’m so upset about.”

He raised a thin eyebrow as you worked your jaw, trying to articulate what kept battering the inside of your head. Your eyes fell to the blanket with discourage. 

“Your health was this bad and you didn’t even tell me. Am I that bad of a general? Can you not trust me…?”

“On the contrary,” he replied, even more quietly. “I didn’t want my best general to see me at my worst.”

“Well… I already have. So get better, Lotor.” Your heart thumped as he praised you. He rarely did that for anybody, but he nodded back to you, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eye as you stood to leave.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked eagerly. “You have my service.” You expected him to demand a convoluted list of prissy things only royal-blooded scum would ask for, but to your surprise, he merely grinned. It gleamed sharply on his face and you shivered, feeling a cold draft of your own.

“I wouldn’t mind your company.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/6b9zQR


End file.
